Phone Calls
by Canadian-Polar-Bear
Summary: A simple phone call is all it takes? No, not really. It takes more than one to rile up the great U. K. What is it with America and phoning in the middle of the night?
1. Prologue

**Hey all! Hope you enjoy!**

**Pairings: USUK/AlfredXArthur, may add more later**

**Warning: Homosexual relationship**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Hetalia**

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He woke up unexpectedly, short of breath and filled with terror.

"Arthur!" The name escaped his lips before he had time to think. The object of his dream kept flashing before his tired eyes.

Blood and death played on his mind.

The incident had been years ago but it still haunted him. War was never bloodless. Alfred knew that better than most. He'd seen women being killed and children being raped.

He reached for the phone and his heart pounded. Surely Arthur would answer his phone… right? Just to assure Alfred that he wasn't still a prisoner of war.

It rang loudly. Once, twice, thrice before a sleepy voice answered the phone. He hung up as soon as he heard the voice on the other end. Breathing hard but significantly calmer he fell back down and into an uneasy sleep.

XOXOXOX

Arthur rolled over lazily and stared at his phone, checking the caller ID. Alfred: this would make the third time this week that he'd called in the middle of the night and promptly hung up on him.

Arthur ran a hand down his face and slipped out of bed and into his slippers. He was already awake anyway.

Now Arthur wasn't Great Briton for nothing. He knew when someone wasn't just being obnoxious in the middle of the night. He didn't have a plan but he knew that he needed to confront the problem head on, lest he never have a good night's sleep ever again.

It was hardly worth it to brew up a large pot of tea so he shoved a tea bag into a large travel mug (a flashy thing from America) and filled it to the brim with hot water. He eyed the honey on the counter and then decided against it. He grabbed a banana that was covered in bruises and scarfed it down.

He pulled his hat and coat on and walked out into the cold November air. The airport wasn't far and England felt more awake than expected. Without taking anything but his tea, cellphone and wallet with him, he pulled out of his driveway and started the short journey to the airport.

The roads were clear of any traffic except the one police car that patrolled the area. He hoped to buy a plane ticket when he got there.

Thoughts bubbles in his head, bringing forth scenarios of why America would be calling him so late at night and even having the nerve to hang up on him.

Parking his car was easy since there weren't many people at the airport. Getting his ticket was more of a hassle since most planes flew in no less than 6 hours and they wouldn't allow him to make a run for the one leaving in 5 minutes.

Slouching in the uncomfortable chairs he opened a magazine and finished his tea. He soon grew bored and began pacing the hallway.

People started to fill up the waiting area as the hours ticked by. He felt himself dozing off when it was his turn to board. With a huff and frustrated sigh he followed the crowd.

He ended up sitting beside a polite young gentleman who held a squirming baby. It would have been pleasant enough had the baby not stated to scream because its ears hurt.

Arthur found himself exiting the plane with a pounding headache and droopy eyes. He hailed a cab after assuring that he had his wallet and empty mug.

The driver chattered wildly, probably in some attempt to keep him awake as they drove towards where America lived. He frowned when they pulled into the driveway and he noticed the blinds to the house were all closed. It was early evening and America hated the dark when alone- especially after a scary movie or any talk of ghosts.

Arthur paid the cab driver and walked towards the door. He froze and shifted from foot to foot before ringing the doorbell. He waited.

And waited

He grew frustrated and huffed. Where was the American? He tried the door handle and it jiggled but didn't give: locked out with no one answering.

His tired mind didn't even think that America might be out and could have forgotten to open the blinds that morning in a typical American fashion.

Sneaking around the side of the house he spotted a window open on the second floor with no way to get to it. There was no way Arthur, a dignified gentleman, would attempt to scale the house.

Arthur flung himself onto one of the patio chairs by the back door and passed out quietly and in defeat, unwilling to put any more effort in.

XOXOXOX

It had turned dark once more before Arthur woke up to rain drizzling on his face. He scrunched up his face in distaste and stretched. He felt stiff, soggy and gross. He cursed the American and pounded on the back door.

"Open up!" He shouted. "What gives you the right to call me in the middle of the night?"

The door creaked open an inch and Arthur could see one frightened blue eye. Alfred looked at Arthur's scowling face and promptly slammed the door in his face. The click of the lock was heard and Arthur's angry face turned into one of shock.

He kicked the door hard. "Fine! Next time I'll just stay home!" Not quit caring if Alfred understood what he was saying, he turned on his heel to leave.

The door opened once more but much quicker this time and Arthur was all but dragged inside.

"England?" America asked. It was even darker in the hallway. Arthur jerked away from him and trudged over to the curtains nearest to them. He tore them open just for the satisfaction of knowing they were open. "It's dark out y'know." America stated.

"Well if you're not going to have them open during the day then they might as well be open at night!" He snapped back at him. America shrugged and flopped onto his couch, resuming a violent looking game.

"So what's up?" He asked casually and blasted a few enemies with three heads.

"Don't 'what's up' me!" England threw a stray pillow at him and missed horribly. "You need to explain the phone calls I've been getting!"

"What phone calls?" He laughed nervously and glanced at England, who now had his hands on his hips and his lips pursed.

"You know bloody well what phone calls. Explain before I castrate you." To America he sounded deadly serious and he shifted uncomfortably. Putting the game on pause, he faced England and puffed his cheeks.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." He paused before continuing. "Perhaps Francy-pants called you so he could jerk to it."

This made England sputter and whack the other in the back of the head. "I have caller ID!"

"Oh." This made him look at his knees like a child who'd been scolded. "April fools?" He offered weakly.

"I think not." England stated firmly.

"Welp, I've got some cleaning to do!" He made a dash off the couch and for the stairs.

"What the hell is 'welp'?" England demanded and ran after him.

"Ahahahahaha! A hero never tells!" At least he didn't seem any different. England began to wonder if he'd just been over reacting in his extended moment of fatigue.

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**Thank you for reading!**


	2. Chapter 1

**Second chapter! Yay! Please enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't Hetalia in part or whole.**

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"Slow down you big oaf!" England grasped the back of America's obviously dirty night shirt and held on. He was dragged up a few more stairs before America came to a sudden stop and turned his head.

"I don't want to talk about it." It was the first time America had ever said those words in that order.

"Then why did you call me!" England shouted.

"That's under the 'I don't want to talk about it' category." America retaliated.

"Fine. Since there isn't any reason for me to be here..." He turned to leave.

"W...wait! You can't just leave! It's too early, sun ain't out yet! You haven't eaten! You need a shower!" America rattled on, pulling excuses out of his ass.

"You say I need a shower? Have you looked at yourself? Or better yet smelt!" England wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"Hey! I showered!"

"When? Last week?" England muttered and America pouted. "Go on. I'll make us breakfast..."

"No!" England raised an eyebrow. "I mean... You're the guest! Yah! So, I have to cook us a totally awesome breakfast!" America squeezed by England and dashed back down the stairs.

He rolled his eyes and decided a shower did indeed sound rather inviting.

He just didn't expect to enter a bathroom that looked as though it hasn't been cleaned a weeks. Mildew and mold clung to most surfaces besides the sink which looked well used. At least, though England, he's brushing his teeth.

And so England set to work, ignoring his urge to stalk back down the stairs to yell at America.

XOXOXOX

"I'm bloody fucking England and I just love terrorizing America! Gotta check what the phone calls are! Once! I call him once and he goes bananas! Pfft." Now, America wasn't in the best of moods as he fried bacon and eggs. He didn't recall calling England more than once and even if he did, he wouldn't admit to it. Secretly, he was pleased that England was at his house. It wasn't often that he showed up uninvited.

He flipped the bacon and winced as some fat jumped out of the pan and onto his hand. No matter how many times he made bacon it always surprised him.

"England dude! Food's ready!" America yelled. He hadn't heard the shower so he had no idea where England was or what he was doing. For a moment he wondered if he'd actually left.

England didn't disappoint. He showed up with a dirty rag that'd been used on the toilet and threw it.

"Wha..." It landed right in his mouth. "Mffg!" America pulled it out and looked at it.

"That was used on the toilet. Now it's used for your mouth. About equally dirty I would say." England grumped.

America eyes went wide as the moon and he dropped the rag in horror. He was only frozen for a minute before he was flushing his mouth out with water.

"This should help with the taste." England gently handed him something round that America took without hesitation and shoved in his mouth. He chews quickly, paused and then coughed like a smoker.

"Soap!" He croaked out, looked like a rabid dog.

"Yes America. Great job. You've identified it correctly." England took a plate and got his food. America just glared and trudged upstairs to brush his teeth.

XOXOXOX

It was a somewhat pleasant surprise, which America pointedly ignored, when he saw that his bathroom had been scrubbed. Instead he grabbed an electric blue toothbrush and some kiddie toothpaste and began brushing his teeth roughly. His anger dissipated with ever brush stroke before his shoulders dropped and he knew he needed to apologize to England before England even though about being nice.

He took a shower only to procrastinate and to think. England was downstairs eating and probably cleaning again. America hasn't even eaten yet; it had been forgotten in the moment.

After his shower he felt like he was cleaner than he'd ever been before. He felt ten pounds lighter after scrubbing all the grime off his body. He quickly wrapped himself in a superman towel and charged downstairs, his stomach reminding him to eat.

"Did you kill it?" America demanded. England had his back to him and was currently washing the dishes.

"What are you talking about?"

"Mr. Bacon! You didn't throw him out did you?!" England scowled at the suds in the sink.

"No America. If you would open your eyes you would see that the bacon and eggs are in the table where you left them" He unplugged the sink and dried his hands.

"Thanks dude." America grabbed the rest of the food and plonked down in his seat to scarf it down.

When England turned around he was greeted by the sight of a half-naked, damp America.

It wasn't at all an attractive sight. He had egg and bacon grease all over his face. None the less England found himself turning away quickly with a small blush.

He busied himself by scrubbing the counter and then its sides. It didn't take as much time as he'd hoped because America had yet to leave. So he returned to scrubbing the counter.

"You already cleaned that." America pointed out attempting to be helpful.

England gripped the cloth tighter and felt his ears burn.

"I missed a spot." He ground out.

"Looks fine to me." In a moment America was right behind him looking over his shoulder. England jumped slightly and gave a small squeak much to the amusement of America.

"I don't think you're a good judge of its cleanliness." England swatted him away.

"Lies!" He placed a hand on his chest and faked hurt.

"Bathroom." England stated simply. "I can get the rag again, if you'd like."

"Alright I give." America chuckled holding his hands up in surrender. "Clean to your little heart's content." He ruffled England's hair and struck his hero pose. "But I'll help!"

"No." England stated firmly and pushed past. "I'm done anyways. Now go put some clothes on! What if someone were to knock on your door?"

"I'd answer. Obviously. For a smart guy you're not that smart are you?" America tilted his head to the side, not understanding.

"Bloody Americans…" He murmured.

"What'd you say?"

"You can't just go around in a towel all day!" England stated quite scandalised. America just looked comfortable from where he stood.

"So I'll take it off to open the door then." America dead panned. For a moment England was afraid he was serious but America followed up his dramatic pause with a loud laugh.

"Clothes now." England still refused to look him in the eye.

"Only if you dress me!" America countered in a teasing voice. He loved the way England's cheeks flushed a delicate pink.

England then excused himself and went to tend to the garden, leaving America with his superman towel.

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**Thanks for reading! **


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia in whole or part**

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"You cannot be serious." America stood with his mouth hanging open at England. He had been pulling weeds when a duck decided to wander over curiously. Something had startled it, causing it to run into England which caused him to fall over and into a mud puddle. This lead to a sopping wet England, covered in mud with America refusing to let him inside. Said American was still only wearing a towel.

"What in Queen's name do you expect me to do then?" England grit his teeth, trying to be civil and convince America to let him in so he could clean himself off.

"Dude! You'll track mud in the house!"

"You're worried about me tracking mud in your house? Have you seen the mess in there! It won't make a bloody difference!" Staying calm when it came to America was never easy for England. His anger flared and he attempted to push past him.

"There's a hose outside!" America pushed back.

"I am not bathing outside." With one final shove he managed to get around America but he also slipped and found himself face down on the floor.

"I'm not cleaning that." In a very un-America like fashion, he stalked back to his couch and resumed him video game, giving up and letting England struggle to get up the stairs without dripping as much as he could.

This gave them both time to think. America more so than England since England wasn't exactly enjoying his shower. America had rushed over to the sink the moment he had disappeared up the stairs to put the hot water on full blast.

"That'll teach him." He cackled to himself, somewhat unsure what he was trying to teach England. He shrugged it off and busied himself with making coffee. It was misting outside and very grey. It felt like a coffee day. Then again, every day was a coffee day for him.

He ran a hand through his thick, still damp hair and bowed his head. What was he going to tell England? He wasn't likely to drop it all and accept some lame-ass excuse.

It wasn't as if America did it on purpose. Heck, he would stop if he could. How long had this been going on? Far too long if you asked him. Rationally, he knew England was not dying and was not about to disappear forever but it was like him and ghosts; he was not rational. It terrified him, the prospect of England disappearing. His independence was more than enough distance between them.

He filled his mug with coffee and sat at the table. He drank it black sometimes but usually preferred to load it with cream and sugar. Which is exactly what he did. The milky coffee swirled and dissolved the sugar quickly allowing for him to take a big swing. He stuck his burnt tongue out comically and wrinkled his nose.

England was not happy. His shower was quick and cold due to America and his childlike pranks. England came out clean, shivering and in dire need of some tea. His sanity threatened to run away and he was reminded of how tired he actually was. There was a crick in his back probably from sleeping outside and his overall mood was horrid. America seemed oblivious to this when England trudged back down the stairs and shot him a glare while rummaging through his cupboards.

"What'cha doing?" America asked casually.

"It's 'what are you doing' America. Honestly, only you could condense three words into one." England scolded half-heartedly, too tired to put up much of a fight. America blew a raspberry and rolled his eyes.

"Seriously, why are you attacking the crackers?" England was currently shoving boxes out of the way, some coming dangerously close to falling onto the floor.

"I know you keep tea in here somewhere." He said.

"Bleh." America fake barfed. "Why would I? That suff's nasty."

"I've been here before America. I know you keep some for me." America looked away guiltily. "At least you used to." England pushed the boxes back into place dejectedly.

America weighed his options. He could either get the tea or let England's anger fester until he snapped from withdrawal. Perhaps an exaggeration but America wasn't about to find out.

America stood as England claimed a chair and crossed his legs in a gentleman like manner.

"Coffee?" America offered as a joke.

"If that's all you have." England replied giving America a bit of a shock.

"Um, okay." America pulled another mug out of the cupboard and filled it with coffee. He was curious to see how this play out. The tea could sit in the drawer for a while longer. "Cream? Sugar?"

"However you take it." England should have known he would regret those words.

"Okie dokie dude!" America all but skipped to the fridge to grab the cream. He poured a generous amount and added a few large spoonfuls of sugar, stirring until it was an even creamy consistency.

"Thank you." England took the offered mug from America and looked at it cautiously as if it would bite him.

He took a small sip and repressed a shudder. He could already feel the sugar rush that would happen if he actually drank it.

"The hell is this?" He spat.

"Coffee." America took a swing of his own with satisfaction. "What are you doing?" He watched as England stood and raised the mug above Nantucket.

"Putting it where it belongs." He tipped the mug and America jumped out of the way. England chuckled lightly and proceeded to dump it down the drain. "Such a waste." He said sarcastically.

"Damn straight!" America jumped to snatch the mug and held it close. "I'll drink it if your prissiness can't handle the awesome American fuel!"

England rolled his eyes and watched him chug the remainder of the coffee.

"You want tea?" America asked after a moment.

"You have tea?" America shrugged in response. "Why the bloody hell did you make me drink that vile liquid if you had tea all along! You twat!"

America pulled open the drawer filled with glorious tea and chucked a few different bags at him. "Take your pick. They're only there cuz you left 'em."

"I don't recall leaving 'Mango Maniac'." England sighed and accepted America's denial. "I'll take the earl grey."

After the tea had been drank England decided to breach the subject of his visit once more.

"America. Listen well now. You called during the night and hung up on me before I could get a word in." America noticeably shifted and avoided eye contact, opting to stare out the kitchen window at something exceptionally interesting- probably fairies. "You owe me an explanation." England mentally patted himself on the back, he was being real nice and calm about all this.

"You were dreaming. I aint calling you. Who'd call you? Hahaha…" America threw an insult at him hoping to get some backlash and a quick change of subject. A large bushy brow twitched and England resisted the urge to strangle him.

"I. Have. Caller. ID." He grit out, prior fatigue forgotten.

"Prove it?" America gave a hesitant grin.

"How the bloody hell can I prove it when I'm here! My home phone is at home!"

"Wow. What a radical notion." America said sarcastically.

"I'm not leaving until you tell me!" America paled. There goes his sleep for forever. He would die if he woke up in a panic with England around.

"Fine! Stay for all I care. Of course you would want to stay, this is just an excuse! You miss me. Admit it!" America countered.

"Oh yes America, I missed your greasy fat ass." England jabbed him in the stomach.

"At least my cooking is enough to keep me fed!" America smacked his hand away. "Your food kills everyone."

"At least I'm stable!" England took a step forward.

"Who's the one who has imaginary fairy friends again?" America snarled.

"You're so unstable your government froze, and they are not imaginary!" They stood inches apart now and breathing heavily. It was America who threw the first punch.

England clutched his jaw in slight shock and stumbled back. He lurched forward after catching his balance and tackled the American making his grip the counter to avoid falling over. England jostled Texas with a swift punch to his cheek.

It didn't take long for someone to knock a chair over and for America to receive a bloody nose. England received a knee to his ribs leaving him a bit winded. In one final effort he grabbed America's collar and attempted to punch him again.

"England…" America spun England around and twisted his arm up painfully. There was a pause.

"Bloody American." It had an air of finality to it and they both breathed out, tired and unwilling to fight any longer. "I'll go. Just, ah, if you're going to call…" he brought his arm down and rubbed his now sore wrist. "Don't hesitate to…" It was awkward and America stared at his back in confusion. "If you call… I'll listen." He got out awkwardly.

"Right. Yeah, thanks. I guess." America said through his sleeve which was pressed against his bleeding nose.

"I'll just grab my jacket then."

"See ya." America didn't bother to see England off. He threw the dishes in the sink and glared at the mud spot and trail England had made and not cleaned up. He finally decided that he deserved a horror movie marathon.

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**Thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia**

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England pulled out his wallet and swiped the plastic card. He accepted his room key and made his way to the cheap hotel room. It was small and lacked class but at least it was clean. He wasted no time in peeling off the clothes he had borrowed, or perhaps stolen from America earlier. He pulled his mud covered clothes out of the plastic bag they had been shoved in and cleaned them in the tub.

He hung the clothes to dry and slipped into bed completely naked, too tired to really care.

XOXOXOX

He awoke without incident and looked at the clock. He had managed to sleep the remainder of the day and part of the night away. It was around 5am and he felt quite content and relaxed.

In England like fashion he picked up the phone and called America, knowing full well that he would still be asleep and waking him would piss him off. It was typical revenge.

He hadn't expected much of answer beyond garbled swears.

"It wasn't me! Please don't kill me!" America shrieked into his ear. England sighed and hung up, leaving America to deal with his own problems.

The phone rang.

"My life goal is to kill you." England answered already knowing who it was.

There was silence on the other end.

"America?"

"Holy shit England! I totally though some ghost had got you and I'd have to beat them up!" His voice was relieved and blatantly told England that he was in fact very scared.

"Yes yes. What do you want?"

"You called first." America pointed out.

"I was returning the favour." England replied sourly.

"So… did you mean it when you said I could call anytime?" His voice was hesitant but sincere.

"I never said that!" England jumped.

"Oh. Sorry."

"Wait! Damn it. You can call, yes, but not whenever you feel like it."

"So if I called you now…"

"You did." England interrupted.

"Would you listen?" America finished and waited.

"I said I would didn't I?!" England shot back.

"Good, cuz I feel like I need to watch out for you tonight. You know… ghosts and all that could be haunting you. Just waiting to attack!"

"Good night America." England hung up with a small smile. It was short lived because the phone rang again. "What now?"

"I miss you." And the line went dead. England stared at the phone in shock. Had he said what he thought he said?

England found himself getting angry. What gave America the right to suddenly decide he missed him now? He had left. It hadn't been England's choice. It was America's.

It also made him feel happy. America needed him, at least to some extent and this filled England with warmth. He wanted to go back, hug America and apologize. For what? Everything maybe? Nothing? He wasn't sure but England was stubborn and wouldn't stoop so low as to be the one to apologize first when he hadn't anything to apologize for.

So he did the rational thing and called France.

"Oui?" The Frenchman answered after the first ring. As if he didn't have anything better to do than be on his phone all day.

"It's me, frog." England instantly regretted making the call and France hadn't even said anything besides one word yet.

"Oh, what do I owe this pleasure?" France asked seductively.

"Can it. America said he misses me." They may fight often but England and France were closer than can be. England felt no shame in telling France things like this, since it was America's feelings and not his own they were talking about.

"Vraiment? Quel surprise! I would have expected you to burst first." France laughed obnoxiously. "Then again he is more likely to grab what he wants now days…" He trailed off and left the rest unspoken.

"Are you insinuating I return to my old ways of see and take?" England snorted.

"Non, pas de tout. I just think you should go see him again. Say what you truly want to say. Par example; ooh Amerique, je t'aime! M'embrasse!" He cooed.

"I'll pretend you didn't say that. Like hell I love him! He's an annoying burger eating git who continually insists on acting like an obnoxious 5 year old on caffeine."

"And yet it is plain to everyone that you miss him as much as he misses you." France mentioned softly. "You love him."

"But…"

"Don't deny it; I've gone drinking with you many times. I've heard just about everything there is to know about your personal life." France scolded lightly. "Just go see him. Perhaps he will make the first move?"

"Why did I even call you? You tell me things I already know and plan on ignoring!"

"Because you are insecure and need confirmation of your feelings?" France offered. He was cut off mid laugh when England hung up the phone, a furious blush on his face from the conversation. It wasn't something he usually thought about. He tried very hard to push any such thoughts to the back of his head where they remained until someone brought them forward.

"Go see him huh…" England contemplated the idea. He could always go and just demand an explanation instead of proclaiming his feelings. This sounded like a much better variation to France's idea.

The only problem was that England had gone without the necessities for a while, mainly a toothbrush and his own clean clothes. England had all but handed himself a very practical reason not to go see America and just book himself a flight home.

On the other hand, a toothbrush could easily be bought anywhere and America's clothes were quite comfortable if nothing else. He could easily get away with staying for a few more days.

He used the hotel phone to call the airport and find out when the next flight home would be. It wouldn't be flying direct route until tomorrow evening. For this reason England decided, against his better judgement, to stay.

He didn't exactly want to see America right now nor did he want to go home without seeing America first. It was one big dilemma with seemingly simple solutions.

"Git causes problems even when he's not here." He mumbled and lay back down on the bed, ignoring his prior plans for the moment. A few hours more couldn't hurt, maybe after a quick nap he'd have a clearer mind to deal with everything.

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**Thanks for reading!**


	5. Chapter 4

**Thanks for reading this far! This has got to be my favourite chapter so far. I hope you enjoy it too!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia in part or whole**

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America mulled about his house in a depressed trance. He didn't want to sleep, he didn't want to watch movies and he didn't even want to eat a burger. He felt like he was about to throw up. How could he have said that to England? He was probably laughing at him right now for being weak, especially when it had been America who had wanted independence in the first place.

Along with this depressed uneasiness he still felt fear from his nightmares. He obviously didn't want them to return but even nations need sleep every so often and America felt as tired as an old cripple after a marathon.

He just wanted to bash his head against something, figuratively at least. It wasn't just nightmares about England though. Almost everyone he knew had been present in them; England was the only one to be in every single one though.

He'd called Canada numerous times during and after the cold war because he feared the worst and he found it harder and harder to supress the emotions from the world wars. It was easier during the wars, dare he admit. During the wars he had to concentrate on staying alive and put all his efforts into fighting. After everything had cooled down and he was given a chance to actually think, it hit him like a freight train. He hardly slept and when he did he had nightmares. It was a vicious cycle. He needed something to occupy his mind and that was usually war but those wars added to his nightmares, making them worse meaning he needed another distraction.

Canada called him too but he had found ways to cope, better ways than America and was able to sleep peacefully after a while. They were each other's lifeline for a bit after the world wars.

America hadn't expected the nightmares to come back again, but they did. On September 11th, 2001 America found himself reliving the attacks and the wars again and again. Those dreams faded after a while but now they were back, mostly consisting of World War 2 and mostly of England.

There wasn't even a specific reason for them. Nothing big and violent, a threat to humanity, had happened. America was confused and lost. He had told Canada but there wasn't much he could do.

Luckily he only panicked after a dream so they obviously weren't panic attacks, or so America tried to convince himself. He could sometimes combat the nightmares with the sleeping pills he'd been prescribed, which offered a few hours of dreamless sleep. Those glorious hours were what America lived for.

"Damn it." America stubbed his toe on the couch. He lay on his stomach and hugged the cushion that was there. He would not cry. It wasn't manly, he couldn't. What would England say if he saw America's watery eyes and puffy face now?

Why did he have to go and develop a sense of loss whenever England left? He had accepted his more than friendly affections for the other nation but found it hard to deal with both his emotions and the dreams. It was like the universe was conspiring against him, giving him the worst sort of emotion for the nation who happened to frequent his nightmares.

His throat hurt and his nose was plugged as he choked and held back a strangled sob. He felt like crap and just wanted to curl up and stay there for the next century. It hurt too much.

"Maybe if I work on my international relations…" He mumbled into the pillow. America didn't have many people or nations that he could call his friends anymore. For some reason China kept bringing up his huge debt, Japan didn't talk to him much, Canada was busy, Russia was… Russia, Italy was scared of his food, Germany was too serious, France was a pervert and England didn't like his company. The more he thought about it, the lonelier he felt.

Tony didn't even visit as often as he used to. The alien claimed to have more important business with the newest video games and devising an evil plot to take over the movie industry. America wasn't one to question insane ideas so he just encouraged his friend to fight for whatever it was he wanted.

He could feel his eyelids getting heavy and the world seemed to tilt, giving him the sensation of falling. It wasn't an uncommon feeling for him, especially after holding back so hard.

Sleep claimed him soon after.

XOXOXOX

_End of WW2, liberation of British and American prisoners of war_

"_We did it!" Cheers had erupted and the American soldiers ran about. Prisoners were being released from the camp. A few stretchers had to be brought in but most were able to walk on their own. Very few looked as though they'd escaped violence though. _

"_Have you found Kirkland yet?" One of the liberated British officers asked Alfred, who was posing as an American pilot and helped with the freeing of the camp._

"_Who?" Alfred replied, his interest flashed at the name. _

"_Our Colonel, Arthur Kirkland. He was moved somewhere else. We don't know where though, just that he's still here. We'd see him from time to time." He paused. "Actually, we haven't seen him in a while." _

"_We haven't covered the whole camp yet. We're still looking." Alfred said. He turned to continue helping with the area. They didn't know whether there were still Germans hiding about that could ambush them in one last desperate retaliation. _

_He received many slaps on the back from fellow soldiers and even got kissed smack on the lips by an old woman speaking rapid Italian. She was quickly escorted by a nurse who mumbled an apology and explained that she wasn't quite right in the head. Alfred just laughed at the gaiety of it all. It was one of the better, least violent camps he'd seen and he suspected that most people would make a nice recovery. _

_He shifted his gun a bit and strutted forward, full of confidence and feeding on the emotions or relieved prisoners. He scouted out a few buildings with a young British soldier who knew the area since he'd been there for a few months. Alfred wasn't too sure whether or not this man was really a man at all. He seemed far too young but at least he'd made it through the war, no use in asking now anyways. _

_The area seemed to be clear of any enemy forces and they located a small stash of American chocolate which Alfred happily piled into his pocket. The Brit, who Alfred now knew as Dennis, rolled his eyes but smiled when he was offered one. Bonds were formed easily between allied soldiers during war. _

"_I don't think we'll be finding anything here boys. They've all cleared out." Another American poked his head into the room. "It'll be lunch soon. They're gonna go all out and bust open the rest of the rations and whatever we found here. You best get back before it's all gone!" And with that the three of them headed back to the tents. _

_True to his words, the soldiers were pulling out ration bags and bags, a few bottles of alcohol could be seen and a few fires were springing up. Everyone was excited and waiting for the time when they could finally go home. The communication equipment had taken a lot of damage so the German radio was currently being used. _

_Even the German soldiers they had caught looked relieved that it was over and were talking animatedly amongst themselves. _

"_Move!" A few voices shouted and pushed their way through towards the medical tent that was set up. Everyone hushed and tried to crane their necks to see what was happening. "Get a nurse!" There was a flurry of movement and the nurses gasped; not much shocked the nurses anymore._

"_I don't know if we can save him," She said and busied herself. "but I'll try." Another nurse joined her._

"_That's him!" A British soldier lurched forwards and tried to get closer. "Colonel!" _

"_Keep back." The nurse elbowed him but he persisted. "You're going to make it worse! Stop touching!" But he wouldn't listen. He kept trying to bandage him up himself. _

"_Hey!" Alfred easily lifted the man away and caught sight of the unconscious man. His heart leapt before almost stopping. There was Arthur Kirkland, bald and covered in lacerations. Obvious bruising was around his neck and his legs were definitely not supposed to bend that way. His skull looked like it was made of clay and contained many indents. There was so much blood and bone and… was that his brain?_

"_He's lucky to be alive, that's for sure." Someone beside him said casually. "Definitely feel sorry for him, poor bastard will probably end up mental."_

"_He probably won't even live through the night." A nurse whispered._

"_He's still breathing, have hope." Another tried to be positive but her voice shook._

"_His eyes!" _

"_My God, they're gone!"_

"_Gaping holes! Not even any blood!"_

"_Probably been like that for a while, you think?"_

"_Looks burnt…"_

"_The hell happen to him?"_

"_Worst I've ever seen."_

"_How is he even still alive?"_

_Alfred shook violently and threw up the contents of his stomach, dry heaving once he was depleted. _

XOXOXOX

Alfred heaved and toppled off the couch. He shook and cried out harshly, gripping his head as it pounded. Memories such as these, when England was nearly discovered for what they were, still haunted him. It was only by chance that those who had known what happened to England had either died before they could say anything or had the intelligence to keep their mouth shut. In any case, all the humans involved were all dead now.

* * *

**Poor America! Thanks for reading! **


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